


The Skipping Assassin

by buckymcboingboing



Series: Bellarke [2]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bellarke, F/M, Not Beta Read, artist!Clarke, assassin!bellamy, i think its a happy ending i think lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:55:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckymcboingboing/pseuds/buckymcboingboing
Summary: Synopsis/Plot:(After Ocean Eyes,)the mob boss, whom they thought they killed upon Lincoln's death, is terrifying another community known locally as "the Death." Bellamy and Clarke still talk years after they met in the middle of a lonely country road. A wip.Why:Even though this was not as in-depth and fleshed-out as it's predecessor, I wanted to give you guys this secret little wip that had been sitting around. I enjoyed reading it a bit and I use it as a prompt sometimes.Fun Fact(s):I just hope other writers can build off it whatever world they want or think they could write it better, so that this can inspire more awesome content than just what I come up with! <3 I will say that thoughOcean Eyeshad some mistakes and wasn't very constructive in plot, I didn't feel like I could ever write a piece that was equivalent to the descriptive style it had. I graduated, ended up being incredibly-traumatized in the military, and lost so much. Wow, that was two years in a sentence, lmao. How did these Fun Facts become my life story?? Anyways, what I think I mean to say is, quite simply, I am re-building the writer in me. So, please be patient with me!<3 -A
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Bellarke [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1103934
Kudos: 6





	The Skipping Assassin

**Author's Note:**

> the skipping assassin  
> : bellarke wip  
> a.d.h.

“Sir,” the barista pleaded for the third time and for the third time, his voice echoed as if he was the only one there. The store was graveyard quiet as if Death had stormed the glass doors himself. Though in a sense, Death himself had. He had walked through those clear doors—An outdated biker jacket hung from his shoulders. As soon as the lanky barista had seen the burgundy-red that had splashed and dried on the edges of the man's black sleeves, his hands had started shaking and he couldn't stop them. He’d fixed the drink as quickly as he could and said that three-lettered word, “Sir.”

The mobster's entrance had dried up all conversations, but he seemed oblivious to everything other than the window to his back. His eyes snapped to the scrawny boy and rolled his shoulders back as if to wake himself up or establish his presence again.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” the man growled out. He grasped the cup in a calloused hand and slapped the counter. The boy jumped despite his best intentions and the man smirked to himself.

The bell rang again. It echoed just like the “sir” from before, bouncing to the hollow walls and back. There were ever-so-light footsteps and suddenly a man was shouting, in a booming voice that reverberated through the bones of those present, “Down! Everybody down!”

A barrel was pressed to Death's skin as he murmured some wisecrack he couldn't finish because a bullet left the chamber and a soul left Death's body, if a soul had ever found a home there. Death dropped to the floor, his presence sucked from the atmosphere, and the surrounding café chatter came back to The Assassin's ears.

Everyone awoke from their silence. All the women slowly grasped their chairs and started moving towards the fallen monster. All the men started breathing again, a smile even playing at some lips while tears threatened other's eyes. The Assassin stumbled towards the mirroring doors, his reflection smudged and his grey sleeves a dusty-red at the fringes.

Looking at the sun after receiving freedom is an experience like none other. The Assassin stretched his hands out and wept—for freedom, for happiness. He reached for the beat-up phone. He needed to tell her. But could he?

“Hey, Bellamy,” her voice was better than the sun. It was the moon, white, clean, it was a waterfall, and it was forgiveness unspoken.

“Hey, Clarke,” The Assassin breathed, tears splitting his voice at the edges. The blood that traced guilt onto his hoodie didn't bother him anymore. How was everything clearer already?

“So,” she huffed a light laugh at his pause. “I have something to tell you.”

A longer pause.

“What, Princess?” A smirk tweaked his face, betraying his anticipation. 

“I went for it,” she braced. She'd have to thank him for the talk last night. She felt like she could take over the world after he spoke. 

“You-You did it?” His breath left him and hers didn't come. “That's my girl,” a smile had overtaken his face and he couldn't stop it if he tried. “So, what’d that director lady say?”

Her shyness seeped through the phone, “Well, she said it was… It was the best artwork she'd seen in years.”

“See! What'd I tell you? Tell me I was right,” the sun danced around the corners of his eyes.

“Like you'd need the boost in ego,” she snarked.

“Hey, give me this. It's been a rough day. I did it.” He slipped. He said it.

“Y-you did? You did it… You did it.” She repeated it in an almost robotic tone. She knew. She knew now.

“I did it.” He admitted, the guilt spreading from his sleeves up to his head.

“Hey,” he could practically hear her breath hitch on the word. Her voice betrayed her sorrow, “Why can't you ever think of yourself?”

“Myself? Myself? This was one of the most selfish things I've ever done,” he was flabbergasted, gesturing wildly in the gravel street.

“And yet… It was for everyone,” she could hear him scoff on the other side of the line. She pleaded with him to hear her, “You're a hero. You're their hero. How can you not see that?”

“I… I don't care. He's dead. It's done,” he said mindlessly.

“You are scaring me. Don't shut down on me. It had to be done. God himself knows what that man's done.”

He closed his eyes and let her words wash over him. She needed him to realize how many lives he'd just saved, “Think of Aurora. There's a mom in that town, isn't there? You just saved them. You just saved them.”

He sniffed. His eyes were still pooling with the water pouring onto his cheeks, but he nodded. Then, he realized she couldn't see a nod over the phone. Chuckling to himself, he pretended to fuss, “I got blood on my hoodie.”

“Damn. Now that's an actual problem. Blood’s a bitch to get out.”

“Help me get it out? Tonight at my place?” He said quickly.

She chuckled through the speaker, “Smooth, Blake… Yes.”

He looked across the street. _Vacant. Amazing what a few gunshots can do,_ he huffed to himself. _She said yes. Again. I'm the luckiest man in the world._

If anyone looked out their window, they saw a bloodied assassin skipping down the empty street. No one believed their eyes, but the rumors ran wild. After all, when they found out about the death in the café, they wanted to join him in rejoicing in the street.

If rumors spread long enough, they might find out who this 'Skipping Assassin' was. They might know him as the scarred mobster who'd give away his lunch. The older brother whose Mama died a while back. The mysterious Assassin in a grey-red hoodie who skipped down the street. The man who stood in the middle of the road and laughed because he was free.

_-A_


End file.
